We had been in the bazaars in Dehradun all day, from 9am until 8pm, fighting through exceptional crowds of shoppers purchasing gifts for the Hindu holiday: Diwali. My friend Danna and I made a special trip to Dehradun, below Mussoorie, both to visit a seasonal mela (fair) known for its good selection of hand-made things, and to purchase a number of items needed for our office Director’s soon approaching wedding. Since the stalls at the mela would not be open for several hours, we walked to Paltan bazaar, the main shopping district in Dehradun. We went into more cloth shops that day than I care to count, trying to find just the right colored fabrics for Matthew and Ivy’s wedding decorations.
One other particularly difficult task was locating large glass vases to be used as centerpieces with live goldfish in them. At some point several months prior, I had mentioned it as an idea and the bride-to-be and her groom were then set on having them at the reception following their wedding ceremony. Nothing quite like live fish… Unfortunately, we discovered that large glass vases or jars are rare in Dehradun, and even more difficult to describe to shopkeepers. This chore was compounded by a certain requirement on Diwali that all Hindu households must purchase new household items, particularly shiny metal items. This meant that all shops in the main bazaar selling household items (like large glass jars) and shiny metal things were set up in such a way that their wares spilled out onto the street on tables and in fact no shopper was allowed into the shop itself, because it was so overstocked in preparation for this special event that no one other than the one or two or twelve employees could reach anything except to climb here and there fetching items that the eager Diwali-shoppers were directing them to from outside of the shop. That is to say, it was all but impossible to find the particular large glass jars we were seeking. The metal shops on Diwali-eve would prove to be a source of amusement later in the evening.
Much of the remainder of the day was spent walking up and down the length of Paltan bazaar in search of wedding things. Several times Danna and I both ran into a ‘wall’ of fatigue and had to escape to the favorite tandoori chicken restaurant in the city and two times to a not-so-nearby coffee shop to refuel. At last, near the end of the day, laden with many plastic bags of goods acquired, we returned to the mela and the city’s Parade Ground so that Danna could complete some of her Christmas shopping. Another hour and even more plastic bags in hand, we made our way out of the Parade Ground. It had occupied my mind for more than a few hours that we would need to arrange some conveyance to get ourselves back to Mussoorie from Dehradun, since we had taken a shared taxi to Dehradun earlier in the morning. It was now just past eight’ o’clock in the night and the last local bus to Mussoorie went at seven pm. Our only realistic option was to get to the railway station with all our plastic bags of goods and hire a taxi from there to Mussoorie. But how to get to the railway station? A typical method in Dehradun and much of India would be to flag down an auto-rickshaw and catch a ride to the local railway station where they keep the big, white, classic Ambassador taxicabs. However, this night I opted for a different mode of transport to carry us to the taxi stand.
On the way into the fair, I noticed among the cars and motorcycles in the parking lot, two white horses with young men who were offering rides around the parking lot to the children. Half-cocked, I approached the horsemen and inquired about their steeds, nuzzling the soft velvet nose of the horsey closest to me. At first, I was not really serious about taking a ride, but then, part of the way through a struggling conversation in Hindi, a wild idea captured my mind—we could have the horses take us to the railway station! Following a few minutes of convincing the horsemen I was actually serious and a quick double-check with Danna to see if she was game, we saddled up. With a crowd of people looking on, I climbed onto my steed, (a little too overzealous at first, nearly sliding right off the opposite side). The young man who was to lead my horse to the railway station handed me back an armload of plastic bags I had asked him to hold while I mounted. A few seconds later we came to know that Danna was struggling to climb on to her horse, as hers was the taller of the two, and I had climbed aboard the shorter one. With a lot of giggling and more gaping looks from the growing crowd around us, she successfully climbed up and was handed back her armload of plastic bags. In fact, our hands were so full of bags that we found it impossible to actually hold on to anything on the horses, and were each forced to squeeze with our legs to keep from falling off as the young men led us across the parking lot to exit the Parade Ground.
Upon exiting the grounds, we stepped out onto the road and walked directly into oncoming traffic. This became a little unnerving when large trucks drove by. Within a moment, people along the sides of the road took notice of our horses’ unlikely activity, and even more unlikely riders who were smiling and laughing our heads off. These same people on the side of the road began whooping and clapping, laughing and even cheering. After a few minutes, we paused at a traffic light at one of the more busy intersections in Dehradun, waiting for the green light with the rest of the scooters, motorcycles and cars around us. People were talking to us while we waited, smiling and laughing, rolling down the windows in their cars to take a clearer look at the two white people on horses in the middle of the road. After crossing the intersection, we passed down more roads and more surprised onlookers.
Eventually, we emerged from a narrow alley right into the heart of Paltan bazaar, where we had walked and shopped earlier in the day with millions of others. If it was at all possible, there were even more people in the bazaar at this hour—it was completely packed to the point of being a solid mass of humanity surging and swelling like an ocean. Our two white horses were led right into the middle of the sea of people shopping, and we rode above it all looking out across the waves with exhilaration and wonder. It was spectacular seeing the full bazaar, lighted and roaring with activity, while we slipped through it all above the heads of all those walking on the ground. Every so often we would come upon a particularly crowded section where it seemed impossible to squeeze through—these were inevitably the same metal shops that spilled out onto the street with tables full of shiny metal things. They caused such a knot of people struggling to purchase shiny metal and we laughed all the more as we realized the cause of the traffic jam.
As we rode through the bazaar that night on white horses, I will always remember the magical effect our crazy activity had on the faces and lives of so many people who saw us. People cheered. They shook our hands, and congratulated us for our great idea. They called and gestured frantically to their co-workers or families to come running out of the shops and catch a glimpse of the crazy people riding by on the horses. Shopping-wearied faces would light up with wonder and joy when they noticed us riding by. There was not a single person we saw that night that did not smile or wave—except the three police officers at the crowd-control barrier at the intersection at the end of Paltan bazaar who did not know what to think of us as we rode by, struggling to decide whether to smile and laugh or chase us down and arrest us.
When we arrived at the taxi stand some 45 minutes later, fatigued from laughing so much (and squeezing to hold on with our legs), we climbed down, shook hands all around with the horsemen and stepped into a taxi to ride up to Mussoorie. It was a special way to end the day and one I may never try to replicate but won’t soon forget.
One other particularly difficult task was locating large glass vases to be used as centerpieces with live goldfish in them. At some point several months prior, I had mentioned it as an idea and the bride-to-be and her groom were then set on having them at the reception following their wedding ceremony. Nothing quite like live fish… Unfortunately, we discovered that large glass vases or jars are rare in Dehradun, and even more difficult to describe to shopkeepers. This chore was compounded by a certain requirement on Diwali that all Hindu households must purchase new household items, particularly shiny metal items. This meant that all shops in the main bazaar selling household items (like large glass jars) and shiny metal things were set up in such a way that their wares spilled out onto the street on tables and in fact no shopper was allowed into the shop itself, because it was so overstocked in preparation for this special event that no one other than the one or two or twelve employees could reach anything except to climb here and there fetching items that the eager Diwali-shoppers were directing them to from outside of the shop. That is to say, it was all but impossible to find the particular large glass jars we were seeking. The metal shops on Diwali-eve would prove to be a source of amusement later in the evening.
Much of the remainder of the day was spent walking up and down the length of Paltan bazaar in search of wedding things. Several times Danna and I both ran into a ‘wall’ of fatigue and had to escape to the favorite tandoori chicken restaurant in the city and two times to a not-so-nearby coffee shop to refuel. At last, near the end of the day, laden with many plastic bags of goods acquired, we returned to the mela and the city’s Parade Ground so that Danna could complete some of her Christmas shopping. Another hour and even more plastic bags in hand, we made our way out of the Parade Ground. It had occupied my mind for more than a few hours that we would need to arrange some conveyance to get ourselves back to Mussoorie from Dehradun, since we had taken a shared taxi to Dehradun earlier in the morning. It was now just past eight’ o’clock in the night and the last local bus to Mussoorie went at seven pm. Our only realistic option was to get to the railway station with all our plastic bags of goods and hire a taxi from there to Mussoorie. But how to get to the railway station? A typical method in Dehradun and much of India would be to flag down an auto-rickshaw and catch a ride to the local railway station where they keep the big, white, classic Ambassador taxicabs. However, this night I opted for a different mode of transport to carry us to the taxi stand.
On the way into the fair, I noticed among the cars and motorcycles in the parking lot, two white horses with young men who were offering rides around the parking lot to the children. Half-cocked, I approached the horsemen and inquired about their steeds, nuzzling the soft velvet nose of the horsey closest to me. At first, I was not really serious about taking a ride, but then, part of the way through a struggling conversation in Hindi, a wild idea captured my mind—we could have the horses take us to the railway station! Following a few minutes of convincing the horsemen I was actually serious and a quick double-check with Danna to see if she was game, we saddled up. With a crowd of people looking on, I climbed onto my steed, (a little too overzealous at first, nearly sliding right off the opposite side). The young man who was to lead my horse to the railway station handed me back an armload of plastic bags I had asked him to hold while I mounted. A few seconds later we came to know that Danna was struggling to climb on to her horse, as hers was the taller of the two, and I had climbed aboard the shorter one. With a lot of giggling and more gaping looks from the growing crowd around us, she successfully climbed up and was handed back her armload of plastic bags. In fact, our hands were so full of bags that we found it impossible to actually hold on to anything on the horses, and were each forced to squeeze with our legs to keep from falling off as the young men led us across the parking lot to exit the Parade Ground.
Upon exiting the grounds, we stepped out onto the road and walked directly into oncoming traffic. This became a little unnerving when large trucks drove by. Within a moment, people along the sides of the road took notice of our horses’ unlikely activity, and even more unlikely riders who were smiling and laughing our heads off. These same people on the side of the road began whooping and clapping, laughing and even cheering. After a few minutes, we paused at a traffic light at one of the more busy intersections in Dehradun, waiting for the green light with the rest of the scooters, motorcycles and cars around us. People were talking to us while we waited, smiling and laughing, rolling down the windows in their cars to take a clearer look at the two white people on horses in the middle of the road. After crossing the intersection, we passed down more roads and more surprised onlookers.
Eventually, we emerged from a narrow alley right into the heart of Paltan bazaar, where we had walked and shopped earlier in the day with millions of others. If it was at all possible, there were even more people in the bazaar at this hour—it was completely packed to the point of being a solid mass of humanity surging and swelling like an ocean. Our two white horses were led right into the middle of the sea of people shopping, and we rode above it all looking out across the waves with exhilaration and wonder. It was spectacular seeing the full bazaar, lighted and roaring with activity, while we slipped through it all above the heads of all those walking on the ground. Every so often we would come upon a particularly crowded section where it seemed impossible to squeeze through—these were inevitably the same metal shops that spilled out onto the street with tables full of shiny metal things. They caused such a knot of people struggling to purchase shiny metal and we laughed all the more as we realized the cause of the traffic jam.
As we rode through the bazaar that night on white horses, I will always remember the magical effect our crazy activity had on the faces and lives of so many people who saw us. People cheered. They shook our hands, and congratulated us for our great idea. They called and gestured frantically to their co-workers or families to come running out of the shops and catch a glimpse of the crazy people riding by on the horses. Shopping-wearied faces would light up with wonder and joy when they noticed us riding by. There was not a single person we saw that night that did not smile or wave—except the three police officers at the crowd-control barrier at the intersection at the end of Paltan bazaar who did not know what to think of us as we rode by, struggling to decide whether to smile and laugh or chase us down and arrest us.
When we arrived at the taxi stand some 45 minutes later, fatigued from laughing so much (and squeezing to hold on with our legs), we climbed down, shook hands all around with the horsemen and stepped into a taxi to ride up to Mussoorie. It was a special way to end the day and one I may never try to replicate but won’t soon forget.
